Lonely Band of Starving Artists
by MyName'sBooDixon
Summary: Carol Peletier, a recently divorced single mother, barely takes any time for herself - until her best friend/roommate Michonne drags her to a community art class. It's here that Carol meets the very shy and very talented Daryl Dixon, at the same time, Michonne befriends Rick Grimes - the biggest art snob she has ever met. Au. Caryl. Richonne.
Two Months.

For two damn months Michonne had tried to subtly drop the hint that there were plenty of available spaces in the night class she attended three times a week. And for two months, Carol had been willfully ignoring her, pushing the very idea of it aside. But Michonne hadn't missed the way Carol's dull blue orbs lit up when they first laid eyes on the small section of the paper advertizing an art class for adults at the small community centre just three blocks away.

But Carol wouldn't go. Outright refused. Would not budge. There was always something in the way of it - they didn't have enough cash to spare, someone had to watch Sophia and Andre, she was only just starting to get back on her feet again, and most infamously, she'd come next time - only she never did. All she did was work, and work some more, and pay bills, and take Sophia to school, and work a little longer, and help Sophia with homework, or take part in some childish game with her daughter - and occasionally, when the work was done, and Sophia was fast asleep, and it was getting on past midnight, Michonne would catch her friend balled up on the sofa, half asleep, lazily scribbling in the sketchpad she treasured. That had been going on for two months.

To hell with the art of subtlety.

Michonne had sent Sophia and Andre into the livingroom directly from dinner, told them to read before bed or play a game, and closed the kitchen door almost all the way. She did leave it slightly ajar, just incase a playtime argument require intercept. - Grown up talk time. Michonne waited, leaning against the wooden benchtop as Carol snapped her yellow dish washing gloves on and buried her hands beneath the bubbly surface of the soapy water before she'd come right out with it. Told her upfront that the classes would benefit her.

Carol had strung together a quick and barely audible response, eliciting and eye roll from Michonne.

"Carol, it's a night class, not the end of the world - and I'm only suggesting it." Michonne shrugged, picking up a dishrag that hung on the cupboard handle and waiting to see Carol's reaction.

There was an audible splash as her friend let the cup in her hand clatter back into the foamy dishwater.

"I know, I know… It's just…" Carol sighed, dipped her hands back into the water and rinsed the cup before handing it to Michonne to dry. As she thought of what to say, her gaze drifted across the messy kitchen in the apartment she'd been renting with Michonne for the past few months. Sophia and Andre had toys scattered across the cracked tiles of the floor, the fridge which was always decorated with colorful magnets holding up papers - drawings from Sophia and Andre, payslips, newspaper clippings advertizing jobs, and last of all, bills. Always bills. "Maybe someday when I have more money, or less bills - preferably both!" Carol chuckled lightheartedly, tried to play it off with a toothy grin, but Michonne saw straight through it.

"You'd make more money if people saw your art... Think of the class as an investment - we can stretch the extra twenty bucks a month." She bargained, only half jesting. A moment passed and she accepted a freshly washed plate from Carol, who was thoroughly focused on the dirty dishes at hand.

"Can we? That's forty dollars a month for us both to go… I'm only just starting to get back on my own two feet again after everything and-"

"Carol-" Michonne interrupted, eyes darting down to the plastic Barbie cup Carol was scrubbing with more energy than needed.

"Michonne I just-"

"Carol I'm trying to-"

"Help. I know, but you've already helped so much and I just really need to get back to being my own person again." Carol continued to furiously scrub away at the cup and Michonne raised her brows at her friend's response.

"I was just saying that you're going to scrub that cup into dust if you keep washing like that." She suppressed a chuckle behind a thin lipped smile when Carol handed her the cup, which was somewhat scratched from the intense scrubbing. As a lull fell over their conversation, the only sounds were the mechanical hum of the ancient fridge, Sophia and Andre's playtime sounds, and the soft crackling of the popping bubbles in the sink. Michonne didn't mind - she would let Carol think it over in quiet.

"Say I do go - I go to this class with you. Who will watch Sophia and Andre?" Carol finished washing the last dish and pulled the plug from the sink. "I don't like it - I wouldn't like leaving them here in daytime, let alone at night." She shook her head softly and wrapped her arms around herself. Michonne finished drying the cup and stored it away.

"Maggie Greene can babysit all three nights the class is on - and she'll do it for hardly anything." Michonne offered. Carol had a loose friendship with Maggie Greene, the girl from the apartment next door. After hearing the girl and her boyfriend one night through the paper thin walls Carol had been faced with the choice of befriending the kid, or avoiding eye contact with her for the rest of time. The former had seemed most reasonable.

"And why would she do that?" Carol asked.

"Because she's nice," Michonne paused for several beats and flashed a toothy grin."And, I tutored her little sister a few times." She added with a chuckle. Carol sunk her teeth into her lower lip before drumming her fingers on the bench and looking back up to face her friend. Three nights a week was a lot to ask for a busy college kid, and Carol didn't want to make Maggie's schedule more cluttered - she was a sweet girl and a hard worker, always coming home from the library at the end of the day with a toppling stack of books for her courses. Carol shook her head.

"It's a lot to ask… I should be working more shifts, too. I just can't fit it in," she shrugged. "I'll come next time."

"How many times are you gonna say that?" Michonne asked brow crinkling in concern. "You can't keep working yourself to death, earning next to nothing at that crappy diner, and never do a thing for yourself. How long do you think you can keep it up? - Until Sophia moves out? Or until you retire? - Or work yourself crazy?" Michonne and Carol stood side by side, watching the drain suck down the very last of the sudsy water. Michonne's eyes softened, her voice becoming low. "Being your own person means taking a minute for yourself, sometimes."

Carol shifted her weight to one side and nodded.

"Okay - one class, to see if I like it." Carol agreed, her tone was stern but her eyes were shimmering and the beginnings of a smile tugged at her lips. Michonne nodded and smiled back.

"You will."

* * *

Daryl sighed to himself as he flicked his lighter and held it to the cigarette dangling from his lips.

Of course Merle's room had to be the most central room of the house, of course any noise being made in it could be heard anywhere in the house - and of course Merle and the girl he'd dragged home with him were making quite a racket to be heard. Daryl cussed to himself as he reclined in his seat and kicked his feet up onto the collapsing coffee table in the middle of the living room. His eyes darted over the mountainous wad of papers stacked on the table and he searched out something to do - a distraction from the unsavory clank of Merle's brass headboard against the sheet thin walls reverberating through the house.

T.V. was out - Merle had stumbled home one fine evening a few weeks ago and somehow, accidentally, misplaced it - Daryl had some ideas about where it was, but he didn't ask too many questions - he barely used the thing anyway. There were a few notices for a late phone bill, nothing Daryl wanted to dwell on presently. He briefly contemplated his sketchpad and the array of pencils he'd hidden away in his room, but he didn't think he could concentrate on such a task given the noisy situation in the room behind him. That left him with just one plausible option.

At the top of the towering stack of papers, sat a newspaper. Shit, Daryl didn't even know they still printed those things, or that they even delivered them anymore. He thought it must have been at least five years since he picked up a newspaper. He grabbed the dogeared paper from the stack and flipped through its thin pages, stopping on a few ads advertizing cheap televisions, but only one thing really caught his eye.

He puffed a swirl of smoke and tapped the burnt embers of the end of his cigarette into an ashtray as he glanced the ad.

 _'Adult Education Classes - Art, photography, writing courses available. Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays - Start 8pm, finish 9:30pm. $20/month. Town Community Centre. Room no. 8'_

He gave a low hum. He hadn't done any formal classes past high school - and he'd only just managed to scrape by and graduate that, but he never much liked the classes they had at his school; he hated reading and writing, and couldn't stand physics, he hated math - but he was damn good at it. The only thing he found remotely enjoyable was art, which he also had a knack for.

He heard the sound of whining springs behind him and pounded his forearm against the wall.

"Hey! Keep it down would ya?!" He hollered, shaking his head and dropping his voice. "Asshole." He mumbled to himself, drawing his eyes back to the ad in the paper.

No harm trying, he thought to himself as he tore the section out and scrunched it into his pocket.

* * *

 **A.N: The other day my artistic friend said something artistic and I immediately imagined Caryl and Richonne filling the 'Starving Artist' trope completely and fully. I don't know why - I also really need to write some fanfic to get back in touch with my Caryl feels. Please don't throw a brick at my head please?**

 **Reviews, favourites, and follows are always welcomed. I apologise for any weird spellings - I try to keep with the American spelling of things but if I slipped up just a little that's just my Australian brain creeping in. - Moral of the story... please don't throw bricks at me please!**


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